


The Thirty Years' Romance

by fancylarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Eleanor is Louis' gross wife oops, Historical, Historical References, King Zayn Malik, M/M, Niall is a jester because of course, Noble!Harry, Peasant!Louis, Thirty Years' War, historical fiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 13:40:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancylarry/pseuds/fancylarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Louis are both fighting in the Holy Roman Empire (now Germany) in the Thirty Yearsʼ War (1618-1648). The only problem is that theyʼre in love and that their love is forbidden by class and religion, even though they hit it off immediately once Harry takes Louis prisoner.</p><p>Meanwhile, Zayn is the Holy Roman Emperor struggling to keep his various territories under his control. Niall and Liam are trusted members of his court.</p><p>Will Louis leave his saggy peasant wife, Eleanor, for Harry? Will King Zayn ever crack a smile? Will Harry and Louis survive the ravages of the European wars of religion? READ ON TO FIND OUT!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thirty Years' Romance

**Author's Note:**

> DO YOU LIKE HISTORY? WELL THIS FIC IS QUITE ACCURATE I MUST SAY. EXCEPT THE PART WHERE A BUNCH OF DUDES ARE IN LOVE WITH EACH OTHER.

Zayn II, Holy Roman Emperor, King of Germany, King of Bohemia and King of Hungary and Austria, sat on his plush throne, the soft cushion cradling his perfectly-formed buttocks. He was preparing for war.

“Sir, your court jester is here to see you,” one of his servants said, leaning into Zaynʼs throne room. Before Zayn could protest, say that no, he would rather be alone and-- “WELL, HELLO THERE, GRUMPYPANTS!” Niall tumbled into the room, wearing mismatched shoes and the most ridiculous hat Zayn had ever seen.

“Iʼm not grumpy,” Zayn mumbled. “I donʼt understand why you just canʼt take some things seriously.”

“Zayn, how many times do I have to tell you? You HIRED ME AS YOUR JESTER,” Niall laughed, dumping a glass of wine onto Zaynʼs head. Zayn sat motionless, wondering how he could possibly conduct a war when his authority in his own court had disintegrated so much in just a year. Niall would have been fired on the spot, if Zayn didnʼt secretly think his crooked teeth, gangly limbs, and puppy-like demeanor were so enchanting.

Niall, too, was entranced by Zaynʼs regal jawline and decidedly noble upbringing. He moved with a grace and elegance Niall could only approximate in a humorous way during his performances. He wished he could hold Zayn and just stare at him until the sun set and rose again, but alas, Zayn had princesses backed up out the door wanting to marry him, and Niall didnʼt stand a chance.

Zayn had a feeling that bad news was on its way, and like he asked for it to happen, Liam rushed into the room, tears running down his baby-smooth face. (He tried as hard as he could to grow a beard like the rest of the men in Zaynʼs court, but he just couldnʼt do it. He killed the last man who made fun of him for it.)

“Sir, sir, permission to speak?” Liam could barely get the words out in between sobs as he kneeled before Emperor Zayn.

“Permission granted, but why are you asking that guy and not me?” Niall replied cheekily.

 _Seriously, sword RIGHT THROUGH THE HEART... if he werenʼt so adorable_ , Zayn thought to himself. “Yes, you may speak, though please do not tell me your horse drowned in your tears on the way here.” This is when Zayn started to suspect something was wrong. Liam had been a mere servant to two emissaries he sent to Prague in May.

“Sir... the Bohemians reject your royal authority and... and... THOSE FILTHY PROTESTANTS!” Liam continued to speak through his sobs, to finally reveal that the missing emissaries had been pushed out the window by Prague diplomats.

Zaynʼs expression steeled. “Looks like itʼs wartime, boys.”

\----------

“Donʼt go, Dad, please donʼt go.” Small grubby hands grabbed Louisʼs dirty work shirt. It was one of his sixteen children with his second wife Eleanor, begging him not to join the Catholic Leagueʼs army.

“But son, the pension I receive from fighting will feed all of us for the next year,” Louis replied gently. The Tomlinson family had been brewing ale in their home for generations, but lately the business wasnʼt doing as well, with competition from larger alehouses in the city.

“Your dad must go,” Eleanor whispered. In her arms, she held the youngest Tomlinson child, only three months old. She tried desperately to comfort her as she cried.

Louis simply packed his bag with provisions, opened the door, and left without even a goodbye kiss from Eleanor.

\----------

Harry sat before the fire in his manor in Saxony, polishing his sword. He had spent a long day hunting foxes in the countryside, before sitting down to a grand dinner with his father, the Elector of Saxony. He was now resting as dark fell over the lake, lounging majestically with his hunting dog by his side.

Harry had been training for war these past seventeen years of his life, his muscles rippling as he rode his horses through the acres of land belonging to his father. His fatherʼs friends referred to him as immature, but Harry was ready to prove himself in battle. The girls didnʼt mind his immaturity either, referring to him as “Harry the Handsome,” and giggling and falling over themselves whenever he paraded through their villages.

But Harry hadnʼt married yet. He liked to say he was more focused on battle. He always shook his beautiful dark curls when a girlʼs father offered her hand in marriage, saying no, thank you, he was waiting for “just the right person” to marry.

\--------------

Louis sat in his tent with his good friend Karlheinz as they ate their rations for the night. Karlheinz came from a neighboring village outside Mainz, and his family had known the Tomlinson family for years. All of a sudden, they heard a quiet rustling sound as their general exited his tent, then quiet voices as he began to speak. There was a visitor, Louis could sense. As the visitor spoke to the general, Louis was drawn in by his deep, gravelly voice.

Louis peered outside the tent to see one of the most beautiful human beings he had ever laid eyes upon. His dark curls were slightly matted as he removed his hat, his cheeks a rosy pink from riding his horse. His lips--oh, his lips! They were thick, luscious, and they looked so soft. Was this love at first sight? No, no, Louis was just being foolish. He thought of his wife, Eleanor, whose beauty had faded over the years of childbirth and her face began to sag with the stress of managing their sixteen children.

“What are you looking at?” Karlheinz asked, also looking out of the tent. He didnʼt seem to see anything out of the ordinary. Louis wondered how he could be so blind.

The visitor turned to look at the tent, and Louis ducked out of his line of vision. A nervous sweat broke out and his palms became clammy.

“You okay?” Karlheinz looked worried. “You seem kind of nervous.”

“Just worried about the battle tomorrow,” Louis explained, wiping his brow.

“Iʼm scared, too,” Karlheinz confessed. “I had a dream last night, about home. The fields looked the same, but the heads of all my twenty children had turned to stone. I opened the barrels of apples we had saved for the winter, and they were rotten, crawling with maggots. I went to the barn to check on our livestock, but they lay dead, their throats slit and still bleeding. My wife was there, too--”

“Thatʼs nice, Karlheinz,” Louis said, looking out of the tent again. “Can you stop talking so I can go to bed?”

“I long for nothing more than to see my pastures, green and healthy again, and my children with normal heads not made of stone,” complained Karlheinz.

“Mhmm,” Louis murmured, lying down and blocking out the rest of Karlheinzʼs story. But, try as he might, he couldnʼt forget how handsome that mysterious stranger was.

The next morning, Louis woke up to the sound of Karlheinz preparing for battle. Louis jumped out of bed, frantically searching for his uniform.  
“Why didnʼt you wake me?” Louis slurred sleepily.

“You seemed so peaceful...you kept whispering something about brown curly hair and shining cheeks,” Karlheinz said. “Do you miss your wife?”  
Louis looked away. “Yes, yeah...thatʼs it.”

“She sounds beautiful.” Karlheinz smiled slightly. “Although she seems to have quite broad shoulders for a lady.”

Louis finished getting dressed and slung his rifle over his shoulder. “Letʼs just go.”

\------------

Harry brandished his sword, and in one movement, buried it in Karlheinzʼ stomach and held it there until Karlheinz stopped moving. “Oops,” Harry said, winking, as blood poured out of Karlheinzʼ mouth and a shocked expression hardened on his face.

Louis could only choke out one word-- “Hi.”

Harry gave him a dashing smile, grabbed Louis, and threw him on the back of his horse, before Louis could even say goodbye to Karlheinz. Louisʼ heart began to race as fast as the horse was running, and he wrapped his arms around Harryʼs waist. He could feel Harryʼs abs moving along with the horse. His torso felt so solid, compared to his wifeʼs saggy midsection. She was a good mother, but she never gave Louis the thrill he felt when he was around this strange nobleman.

As they made their way into what was enemy territory for Louis, Harry began chatting with him. On one level, this deeply unsettled Louis, as he could not figure out why his captor would want to bond with him before throwing him into the campʼs prison. On another level, Louis felt almost giddy. Harry introduced himself as the son of the Elector of Saxony, and Louis could barely stutter out his own (disgustingly common, he thought) name.

Once the two got back to the camp, Louis looked nervously towards his captor. He wasnʼt sure if prisoners would be killed instantly or held as hostages. Louis broke from Harryʼs grip on his arm, fell to his knees, and began to pray.

Harry hadnʼt heard the sound of Latin prayer in years, and looked surprisedly down at Louis. He felt almost guilty for taking Louis away from the Catholic army, keeping him deep in enemy territory. But he had found the peasant intriguing in some way, and wanted to keep him around.  
“Where are you taking me?” Louis asked, looking around for any sign of the direction he expected to be pushed toward.

“You arenʼt going anywhere, my friend. Youʼre staying right here with me.” Harry gestured toward a tent much larger than the one Louis had back at camp. Louis was so nervous he thought he was going to vomit.

As the two made their way toward the tent, an officer much older than Harry stopped the pair. “Where do you think youʼre going, Harold?” He asked.

“To my tent. This soldier has, uh... information I need to extract.” Harry tried to shove Louis as if to prove his authority to the other officer, but he didnʼt use nearly enough force to hurt Louis.

The officer gave Harry a look but told him to carry on.

\---------

Zayn was waiting in a garden behind his castle, as Niall had instructed him to do. Heʼd been waiting there for what seemed like hours, completely clueless as to what the jester had in store for him. Just as Zayn was starting to get restless, he heard Niall clear his throat from behind him.

Zayn turned around to see Niall holding a lute. He looked so excited, like a dog after it caught a fox while hunting. Though his outward expression remained steady, he quietly studied Niallʼs face, storing the image of his enlivened countenance away for later.

“Sir, permission to sing?” Niall asked, uncharacteristically softly. As if he had to ask, Zayn laughed to himself.

“Sir, why are you smiling? Do you not think my voice is suitable for your royal ears?” Niall said.

“Permission granted,” Zayn said calmly.

“LIAM!” Niall called out. Liam appeared from one of the doorways with a tambourine. They began to sing together:

 _“I know you've never loved_  
The crinkles by your eyes when you smile  
You've never loved  
Your stomach or your thighs  
The dimples in your back at the bottom of your spine But I'll love them endlessly  
I won't let these little things slip out of my mouth But if I do, it's you,  
Oh it's you they add up to  
I'm in love with you,  
And all these little things.”

Tears began to stream down Liamʼs face. “Itʼs just so beautiful,” he sobbed.

Zayn couldnʼt believe what he just heard. Niall looked at Zayn expectantly as Liam wiped the tears from his eyes. Zayn sat, staring at Niall, still unmoving. Liam lowered his tambourine and as it hit his leg, the sound was deafening in the stillness.

Finally, a word escaped Zaynʼs lips. “Go.” “What?” Niall dropped his lute, his mouth agape.

“You heard me,” Zayn said. “You have been banished from my kingdom for a period of 18 years. Liam, you have been banished as well.”  
Without the protection of the court, Niall was alone in the world. He had no skills other than his wit and his musicality, and that meant he was doomed to be a vulnerable outcast.

It was Niallʼs turn to cry, as he and Liam were each handed a sack of provisions and one of his outfits as a change of clothes. Niall wasnʼt going to leave the kingdom, though. He wasnʼt even going to leave the Emperorʼs forest. He knew this meant certain death, but he couldnʼt leave his Emperor.

\----------

Louis had taken to riding on the back of Harryʼs horse during battles. In a small skirmish outside a major Protestant stronghold, Catholic forces were outflanked and forced to retreat. All Louis could do for most of the battle was hang on tight to Harry, until he shot down a commanding officer on the other side with his rifle. It felt wrong for him to be shooting his brothers in religion, but talk at camp about Louis wasnʼt exactly positive, and he needed to defend himself.

Harry was beaming when they dismounted later at the camp. “Louis, I feel like you had a major in forcing their retreat.”

“Harry, that force was outnumbered from the start, but Iʼm glad you think my aim is true.”

Harry smiled mischievously as he indicated a chest that had not been in his tent at the start of the day. “Do you know what this is?”

“A chest?” Louis asked.

“Well, yes, you ass. But more importantly...” Harry opened the chest to reveal glass bottles of schnapps. “Itʼs a personal gift from my father, commemorating my victories in war.” He offered a bottle to Louis. Even though Louis was used to the schnapps made by his other peasant friends, he was taken aback by the smell of alcohol coming from the bottle. He put the bottle to his lips and drank for as long as he could, not willing to be out-drank by a silly nobleman.

Before Harry and Louis knew it, the bottle was completely empty. Suddenly, the sound of upbeat music and drunken singing drifted into the tent. Harry looked outside to see his officers having a party. He grabbed Louisʼs hand and ran outside, elbowing his way into a crowd of dancing men. Louis broke away from Harry and started to do a dance he had learned from his brothers growing up in his village. The way he was hopping and skipping around drew Harry in, and Harry found himself mirroring Louisʼs actions. His gangly limbs sometimes got in the way of his attempts to dance, but that didnʼt stop him. The two danced as their men cheered them on, chanting along to a song played on the lute. As the dancing grew more and more intense, Harry found himself staring at Louis as if he were the only person in the world.

The men around Harry and Louis sat down with their ale, stunned at the way Harry was acting. Harry was holding his peasant friend a little too close.

“Keeping your friends close and your prisoners closer?” An officer shouted. “Thatʼs a funny way to treat a prisoner!” Another officer jeered.  
Louis stopped dancing. What am I doing? He thought to himself. Heʼs a Protestant, and Iʼm a married peasant...

“Hey, whyʼd you stop?” Harry asked, breathless from the dance. His dark curls were tousled and his shirt was slightly unbuttoned.

Louis giggled and grabbed Harryʼs hand, pulling him away from the crowd and into his tent. He flopped down on the ground and Harry fell next to him.

“Louis, think about how one day we wonʼt be doing this. We wonʼt be traveling all over the country, fighting battles, just being with each other.”  
“Harry, what about--”

Tonight, Harry wouldnʼt allow Louis to talk about sensible things like I have a farm and sixteen children or Eleanor. “What about our house? We can decorate it any way youʼd like. It even has separate rooms.”

Louis couldnʼt even imagine what living in a manor would be like. He let Harry spin his tales of their future together, what theyʼd eat after their long days out hunting, what it would be like to be the “personal servant” to the Elector of Saxony when Harry graduated to the position. Even though his stomach was often in knots about his forbidden relationship with Harry, Louis let him talk, and let his mind wander to that bright future ahead of him.

\----------

A few months later, the Catholic army Louis had deserted had taken more Protestant territories and given the land back to the Church. Louis found Harry shaken one night after another losing battle.

“I always find that praying helps, Harry,” Louis said, entering the tent he was secretly sharing with Harry. “Do you remember St. Boniface? He was killed trying to convert pagans. He asked his army to lay down their weapons, because only good could overcome evil.”

A playful smile spread across Harryʼs face, revealing his dimples. “Louis, you know that we Protestants donʼt have saints.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I just like to think that heʼs watching over all of us in this war, the Protestants and the Catholics, even though we just keep hurting each other.” Louis fingered his pendant and looked at Harry meaningfully.

“Anyway, Louis, you know my great-grandfather just converted for the land we got from the Catholic Church. I still remember my mother singing to me about the Virgin Mary. Weʼre a lot more alike than we think, you know.” Harryʼs face moved closer to Louisʼ and he cupped his cheek in his hand. Louis looked away from Harryʼs intense stare.

“Harry, I canʼt. What about El--”

Harry pressed his lips to Louisʼ and they kissed passionately. Harryʼs lips were so much softer than Eleanorʼs saggy face and cracked lips. And he smelled better, like he had taken a bath recently, with real soap. Louis suddenly wished he didnʼt have the bathing habits of a peasant, and hoped he didnʼt smell too bad. They spent the rest of the night in the tent together, as darkness fell at the camp.

\---------------

Zayn paced around in the forest behind his castle. Over the past few days he had received anonymous gifts of flowers, which he suspected were from Niall. His guilt about banishing his jester and his servant was beginning to be too much, and Zayn found himself searching his grounds for signs of the two. He was surprised Liam was able to stay hidden for this long.

In desperation, Zayn began to hum the song Niall wrote for him. He couldnʼt remember the words, but the tune had been stuck in his head for days. He walked two circles around the garden until he heard a faint voice joining in. Niall walked down the hill towards Zayn, singing his love song, harmonizing perfectly.

“You know Iʼm going to be your jester forever,” Niall said. Zayn smiled and let Niall follow him into the castle.

\-------------

One day, Louis was unable to get out of bed to drill in preparation for the next battle. “Harry, my stomach hurts.” He was lying in bed, sweating. Harry mopped his forehead, thinking that Louis was the master of making huge understatements at the worst moments.

“Youʼre going to be absolutely fine, dear,” Harry said. He knelt down and kissed Louis on the forehead. He didnʼt say anything about the fact that Louis hadnʼt had water in days, and was growing increasingly weak at an alarming rate. He had seen camp fever take more of his soldiers than actual battles, and he knew Louis wasnʼt long for this world.

Louis smiled and grabbed Harryʼs arm near the elbow. “Why am I shaking, then? Harry, itʼs all right if I die. Weʼve known each other such a short time, Iʼm sure you could find a wife that could give you a family--”

Harry stopped a tear with his large hand before it could fall on Louisʼ forehead. “Life wonʼt be the same without you, Louis. I was going to take you back to my manor, teach you how to hunt like a nobleman. I could be an elector like my father, and you could live with me there, and we could watch the sun set over my fatherʼs lands every night.”

“Harry, you know I have a wife and sixteen children back home in Mainz. I liked pretending during the war, but I canʼt abandon my family. They need me and my pension, otherwise all of this would be for naught.”

Harry took a step back. “I wasnʼt pretending. My advisors all mocked me for picking a lowly peasant out of the fray and bringing him back to my tent. I had to tell them I was using you for information. Iʼve risked so much to keep you here, please donʼt leave me.” Harryʼs voice was filled with pain, and he turned away from Louis.

“I donʼt understand how you can be so selfish right now,” Louis said. “Iʼm weak and shaking and all you can think of is yourself.”  
Harry stormed out of the tent, mounted his horse, and rode into the forest.

Louis played with his blanket and watched him go. Night fell. Louis didnʼt sleep. All he could think about was the first night he saw Harry, before he knew what all of this would lead to. They had spent nine months together, moving from battlefield to battlefield, celebrating victories and mourning losses.

Harry returned at the light of sunrise. He didnʼt look the same as he did riding into Louisʼ camp nine months ago. His face was older, his muscles more defined from months of low rations and tough battles. Even though Louisʼ consciousness was fading, he still could make out the straight lines of Harryʼs back and arms, marveling at his posture on his horse. Clearly it was his noble upbringing, his years spent practicing at his leisure.

Louis didnʼt know, but Harry often admired him as well, when he wasnʼt looking. Louis was smaller in stature, probably from years of malnutrition working in the fields. Louisʼs hands were rough and brown, his checks wrinkled from being out in the sun. Louis rarely mentioned his family, but when he did, a glow of pride started deep in his cheeks and sometimes made its way to the surface. Harry felt like he was the only one who could truly appreciate Louisʼs beauty. Not even Eleanor, he thought, understood.

When Harry walked into Louisʼ tent, his stomach dropped at the extent to which Louis had turned for the worse. His cheeks were flushed and he could barely speak. Harry walked in, and without speaking, he leaned towards Louis so the dying man could wrap his hands around his neck.  
“Iʼm so sorry,” Louis whispered.

“No, no, I am,” Harry replied gently. “I shouldnʼt have left you.”

Louis smiled slightly, his eyes closing. He was too weak to say anything. Though he still shook, sweat dripped from his forehead.

“I love you, Louis,” Harry said softly. “What am I going to do without you?”

“Youʼll never be alone,” Louis choked out. Harry watched helplessly as the life left his body.

“LOUIS, NO!” Harry yelled, shaking his body. “Louis...” “Sir--”

Harry looked up to see a low-ranking soldier, eyes wide. “What?!” Harry demanded.

“T-the armies are headed north, sir,” the soldier stuttered. He peered around Harry at Louisʼ body. “What happened here?”

“Nothing,” Harry said quickly. “Nothing.”

\------------

EPILOGUE: THREE YEARS LATER

Harry rode into a deserted village just outside of Mainz, pillaged and burnt to the ground. A carriage rode past, pulled by a thin horse, looking as if it had only a few miles left before it collapsed. Harry stopped his horse and hailed the carriage. A sick-looking woman with three children in tow climbed out of the carriage.

“Whose lands are those?” Harry asked, horrified.

“Mine,” the woman replied. “Or at least they were before I moved into Mainz. My husband, Karlheinz -- he loved working these fields. But he died in the first year of the war.” The woman sighed. “I never got to say goodbye.”

Harry nodded. “I know the feeling.” The woman gave him a sad smile before returning to the carriage.

Harry got back on his own horse and continued toward the next village. He rode into the small village, which consisted of six farms whose small lands all bordered one another. The church reminded Harry of Louisʼs faith, the way he used to pray at night before they went to sleep. There was a large statue of St. Boniface outside the Cathedral of Mainz, but in this small village, only a small icon remained on the outside of the church.

Harry remembered what Louis had told him that night about the saintʼs willingness to put down his weapons in the face of an enemy.  
He went a mile further until he came upon a small farmhouse, with young children carrying water from the well to the house and herding sheep. Harry took a deep breath, folding his hands in front of his body nervously. He shrugged his shoulders and looked down at his feet before the door opened and a tall, brown-haired woman with a drooping face met his gaze. She seemed startled that a lanky, handsome nobleman would be knocking on her door, and before an expression of fear could cross her face, Harry began to speak, stuttering because he didnʼt know exactly what to say.

“Are you Frau Tomlinson?” Harry asked.

Eleanor backed further into the house.

“No, no,” Harry said quickly. “I have news about Louis.”

“Louis?” Eleanor asked. At the sound of his name, five children came to gather around Eleanorʼs legs.

“Yes?” The children chorused. “Me?” “No, me!”

Harry laughed. They were all named Louis. They all look like him, too, he realized as he smiled to himself. Then, as Harry remembered what he was there for, the smile quickly left his face.

“Yes, Louis,” Harry started. “Uh... I met him on the battlefield. Strong warrior...a really good man.”

Eleanor nodded, picking up one of her children. Harryʼs heart tightened as he realized that this child looked like a young Louis, but without the hard lines of poverty and battle that Harry had come to expect on his face.

“Um, but I have bad news.” Harry took a deep breath. “Louis... died. Three years ago. Of camp fever.”

“Oh, rest his soul!” Eleanor said, leaning against the doorway. She dropped the child, who ran away into the house.

“Iʼm so sorry, Frau Tomlinson. Nothing could have been done.” Harry looked down, avoiding eye contact with the devastated woman.

Eleanor began to sob. “He never came home. I expected this would happen. I remarried two years ago to take care of the ale business and the farm, but I still think of Louis every day.”

Harry didnʼt want to say that he also thought of Louis every day. He reached into his shirt and pulled out Louisʼ St. Boniface pendant, that Louis had given to him before he died. “I think heʼd want you to have this, for protection.”

THE END


End file.
